


empires fall ( freedom never dies )

by melanoradrood



Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016), Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gods & Goddesses, Alternate Universe - Historical, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Immortality, rebellions are built on hope
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-21
Updated: 2018-07-21
Packaged: 2019-06-13 21:45:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,396
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15373992
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/melanoradrood/pseuds/melanoradrood
Summary: He calls to hear, across the earth, across time, that fire burning within him matching the same fire within her. He reaches for her, and she answers when he summons her, because his time is growing short... He is reborn, and she leaves part of herself with him, but it is not time. Her fight is still his own, until he is stronger, until he can stand by her side, her equal.She is the Lady of Death, the Goddess of Hope, the Personification of Freedom, and he is her Right Hand, half of herself.Time. He needs time. They have plenty of it.





	empires fall ( freedom never dies )

The hem of her long skirt trails through mud and blood, dragging along the earth, through the battlefield, as she walks along, searching for that which calls to her. It is here, somewhere, some small bit of growth, of hope, of something that, in this desolate land, is so rare, even she has noticed. She has traveled for so long, and now… now she sees him, leaning against a tree.

He doesn’t have long in this world, but she doesn’t need much time. Just long enough to see if he is worth save. Just long enough to see if he wants it, believes in it, that small little light within him that has carried him this far.

His breathing is heavy, and his eyes are closed, and as Jyn sinks down in front of him, he only startles once her hand touches his face, fingers trailing over his temple, down to his jaw, bringing his gaze up towards hers.

Their eyes meet, and she can see it, can see that fire, can see that burning, that yearning within him. He may be close to death, but there is still life within, if he chooses to take it. She will not force this on him, will only offer that which she can give. The rest is up to him.

“You’re dying,” she says softly, and her voice is barely more than a whisper, but any louder feels wrong. They are surrounded by death, by the death of his allies, of his enemies. The groans of dying men have long since died out. The only sound now is his heavy breaths, and the wind.

“Probably,” he says with a groan, and she had expected the begging and pleading of a dying man, begging her to save him, to help him… Instead he just looks lost.

“Do you want to live?” she asks, and she looks at him, waits an answer.

All she gets is another heavy breath.

“Did… did you hear me?”

“Aye, I heard you,” he says, and he finally looks up at her again, finally looks up at her, not knowing what she can do for him. He takes a sharp breath in, and then coughs a little, the force of it probably too hard. There’s an injury in his chest, and his lung is likely collapsing. Drowning in his own blood… a terrible way to die.

“Then answer me,” she says, and she lowers herself down, lowers herself so she’s almost sitting in front of him. All she wants him to see is her, to not be distracted. He is running short on time. She needs his answer now.

“I don’t want to die,” he finally says.

It’s not what she wants to hear, but it’s a start.

“There’s a difference,” she responds, because it’s not the answer she needs, but she wants to know why he’s afraid of death, but doesn’t want life.

“I know,” he says, and his eyes have fallen heavy once more, his head falling backwards. She glances around, knows that this mortal needs water, and she finds a skin on a nearby body. Stepping over towards it, she retrieves it and opens it - not water, but it will help to clear his throat, at least.

Returning with it, she presses it to his lips, and he takes a sip, then spits it out. She supposes it must taste worse than it smells.

“Gods, that tastes like piss,” he mutters, and she smiles a little, amused with him. He would have been an amusing mortal to watch… but that time is passed. All that is left is a future, either with him or without him. That choice is still his.

“Why do you fear death?” she asks, and he looks up again, looks up at her with a hopelessness that doesn’t match the small ember she can see in his chest. He must truly fear it, then.

“I am not a good man,” he says. She thinks to disagree, but she doesn’t know what he has done, not yet. There’s a kindness to his eyes, though, and a longing she cannot describe. “I have done…  _ terrible things _ , all for a cause which I believed in. I had no home, no family, no one to connect me, so I had nothing to keep me from returning to battle, time and again. I was an assassin, a saboteur, a spy… Terrible things.”

“But you did it for that which you believe,” she repeats back to him, wanting to hear him say it again. She wants to know this cause, that which has had a good and decent man commit atrocities…

She does not see it as the mortals do, but there is still a cause which she fights for, the one which drives her, even now.

“Aye… freedom. Freedom from oppression. I killed those that would Lord over us, that would keep us down. I returned coin to those that were robbed, food to the empty tables… but I took blood every step of the way, even blood that I didn’t have to take.”

She needs to hear him say it, because what she will do, it comes at a price, and he has to choose this, or else that little ember within him, it will burn out from anguish, and he will take her down with him.

“You fought to give freedom, to give life, to those that took it away. There is no greater cause in this life. You may have done terrible things, but the scales, they will not weigh against you. You should not fear death.”

He has a sad smile on his face now and gives a slight nod. He is tired, she thinks, and for more reason than just the weariness of battle and the loss of blood. He is tired from life.

She should let him go, let him pass… but that burning within him, she wants to feed it, wants to watch it grow.

He isn’t ready, not really, but he’s out of time, and so is she.

“Do you want to live?” she asks again, one last time.

He looks at her, and there’s that spark, that hope within him, that calls to her. Those around him, they are fueled by survival, by hunger, by power, but this man… he sought only freedom. Not for himself, of course. Freedom for others. Freedom for self is survival. Freedom for others is…

No wonder he called to her. In the middle of such destruction, he was the only one that fought when he did not need to. There was no chain on him, nothing showing him as property. He had already paid for his freedom.

He is not a slave as these others are.

“Will Rome ever fall?” he asks, and it’s still not an answer. She will not repeat herself, but she will answer him.

“All Empires fall with time. Nothing lasts forever. Not even the Gods.”

The man coughs, and she realizes after a moment that it was as close to laughter as he could get, here in these last moments. “The Gods have forsaken me. Good to know they don’t last either.”

He’s fading, he’s fading on her, and the time is now, she needs to hear it now.

“Not all of them. Not all of them have left you.”

She touches his temple, and she tries to draw away his pain, as much as she can, without giving him too much. If he must leave this world, she would take him there, would allow him a death that is free of pain, free of agony. She could give him that much.

“This Rebellion was doomed to fail. It was not yet time for your kind to rise. This Empire is at it’s height. A few hundred years… it was too soon, and that is not your fault.” She is trying to comfort him, but she knows he did not have a few hundred years. He would now, though. He could watch the fall of it, over and over again, if he chose life.

“This Rebellion was built on Hope. It was all we needed…”

It wasn’t enough. It wasn’t enough, and he was dead because of it. It cause was right, and just, but it still failed. He didn’t understand, but if he had time… he would.

“I’m tired,” he says, and she knows he doesn’t mean mentally. His life has been hard, so hard, this man, this former slave. He has fought, and he has lost. He does deserve his sleep, his final rest. “But… the job is not done.”

His eyes are heavy, but there is fire in them as he forces them open. “There is still… as long as men like that rule, this world is not free.”

The ember within him, it’s growing, growing stronger, and it is not her influence, not her power. Her touch has already faded, as death had him within it’s grasp. The pain is gone because there is not enough life left to ache and burn. This is him, this is this man, fighting back, even in these last moments.

He should have a choice, but she doesn’t have time to let him make it. Even in his last moments of life, that fire within him has caught, is spreading, his spreading within him, and she can feel it strengthening her, can hear him, her disciple, calling to her. His death would fuel her for years to come, but instead of drawing from him, she gives him life. She gives him a part of herself, her own core, her own being, and thrusts it into him.

Her hand goes to his chest, and she presses there, above that burning core, and strengthens it. His wounds begin to heal, he grows stronger, and she can feel him taking in that last breath of mortal air, and then - 

Her lips touch his, sealing it with a kiss, a kiss of promise, companionship, friendship. It seals their bond, this mortal that she makes immortal, and he is not like her, not truly, for a new God cannot be made, but she has made him like her.

He can finish this job he has tasked himself with, her Freedom Fight, her Rebel, the boy that calls to her soul in a world filled with Deadly Sins. 

His sin is having too much hope… she cannot fault him for that. She has been accused of that a time or two herself.

Withdrawing from him, Jyn opens her eyes, looks to him, waits to see. He’s so utterly still, no breath, no beat of his heart, but that ember, it is bright, it is bold, and it sings of her power. It spreads through his healed body, and she just waits.

Waits until his eyes open, and he looks at her, truly looks at her, truly sees her.

She has never seen through a mortal’s eyes, but she knows the difference. Colors are brighter, the world is louder, and you can feel it, the pull of those that sing of you, of your core. Still, out here, the only bright thing to see is him. The only goodness left on this battlefield is their fight.

“What… what did you do?” he asks, and he tries to stand, but he is weak. Still weak. He will grow stronger, with time.

“I gave you life,” she says honestly, and she pushes herself to stand, reaches down to take his hand. It’s easy to pull him up, her strength inhuman, and he balances against the tree, gasps in another breath of air, tasting that which cannot be seen by mortal men.

“I… what am I?” he asks, and she shakes her head. It cannot be described, cannot be explained.

“You will have to discover that for yourself. You can still die, can still perish, but you are from me, of me. Your heart, it beats for Freedom, for a cause, for a fight that is my own. You called to me, and so I came. I could not let you die. You say you have done terrible things, atrocities of which you do not speak… There are those that do far worse. Free this world from them. That is your task. I will find you again once you are ready.”

She turns to walk away when he calls out to her, and she glances back at him, her right hand, the one that now holds half of herself.

“Who are you? What are you? I don’t even know your name!”

She smiles at him, and takes it one step at a time. “I like to be known as Jyn. I am a God… but not as your mortals have made us to be. We are fueled by the desires, the core drives, of mortal men. We have been created from that which pushes men into action. Mine… I am made of-”

“Hope. Freedom. You are the Hope of this world.”

It is a bit boiled down, and she rolls her eyes slightly. She is not Hope, she is more the Lady of Death than anything else… but she will always support the lost causes, the drives for something more, to be released from that which is worth than death.

“I will find you again when you are ready to join me in my fight.”

“When?”

She gives a shrug. How long has she existed? Since the creation of man, perhaps. She is of the first breed, the oldest of those, only superseded by Greed and Power.

“When you are ready. Should you need me, I will never be far.”

She fully turns now and walks away, the Earth parting and ripping for her to take her far away. He is young, young in mortal years, and so too young in immortal years. He will grow with time, but she cannot hold his hand. The only way to learn is to be thrown in head first.

She would never be too far away.

“My name is Cassian,” he says, and she smiles to herself as she goes to step through, to shift from one place to another. There is a Rebellion to the West, and she means to watch it, to help the Iberians in their fight.

“Farewell, Cassian.”

The fog fades, and where a woman had once been is turned to nothing.

**Author's Note:**

> this was supposed to be a oneshot that became a seven planned chapters. idk when i'll even work on this because it will take research but whatever. enjoy. 
> 
> ALSO if you're like IS THIS BASED ON __________ the answer is no because my beta kept throwing things at me and I've read none of it. Arguably, I got the idea of immortal!Jyn from gloriouswhisperstyphoon's American Gods thing, but maybe the only thing that slightly played into this is lore of the Irish Morrigan, so yeah. 
> 
> Idk this is just a crazy idea. We'll see how it goes.


End file.
